Careless Whisper
by amor-remanet
Summary: At James and Lily's wedding reception, Sirius tries to set things straight with a struggling, and incredibly inebriated, Remus. SLASH, RLSB. Feedback welcome.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **None of these characters are mine; I'm just borrowing them. Also, "Careless Whisper" is not mine, but it helped the writing and I needed a title.

**A/N: **Written for the poetry prompt for day three of LJ's Tell Me A Kiss challenge.

Well, it's finally happened; James and Lily are married. Took them long enough too, or, at least Sirius thinks so. Finally, he doesn't have to deal with any more over-the-moon, death-inducing sweetness about how James is "going to marry her someday." Sure, there's a war going on, but the plonker's snagged his woman at last; the ceremony was beautiful, and now the reception's a bloody party – as well it should be. Mad despots and Death Eaters have no business ruining something this happy, even if they're only in spirit. A certain Remus John Lupin, however…

Sirius leaves the dance floor with Peter, both of them abandoning their current charges and laughing. Despite the fact that Peter's had more to drink, he keeps slurring reminders that one champagne's enough for Sirius, especially after he wound up literally dancing on the tables at the bachelor party the week before. This had resulted in them being kicked out of the bar, and his memory was fuzzy from when he vomited in a gutter to when he found himself the next morning on the sofa in Remus's flat, freezing underneath one of Remus's mum's old comforters; Peter was sprawled on the floor, and James was conked out in the armchair.

"Mind you," he adds alcoholically, "'t was…_hilarious_ at the time…but not in the morning. _Don't_ do it _again_, ya daft prat!"

"Yes, _mum_," Sirius chuckles, turning his attentions to finding Remus, who he hasn't seen in a good hour and a half.

"I…I _mean_ it! D'you have _any_ idea how much of a _nance_ you sounded like…going on about the beer you got on those…_ridiculous_ leather trousers? _Why'd _you _buy_ those things _anyway_? I mean…_ridiculous_…"

"Uh huh…"

Sirius nods, but stops listening; he's too busy right now for Peter's drunken shenanigans…and he doesn't care if he sounded like a nance. If he tries to count the times that Peter has…well, the list is long. And no Remus just yet. James and Lily are dancing cheek to cheek, Frank and Alice too; that girl Peter brought has also left the dance floor and is talking to some of Lily's friends; Dumbledore is proposing yet another toast to Mad-Eye, his hip flask, and the Prewetts; and…ah-ha! Remus is…at the bar, alone, head down and – Sirius thinks – a glass in hand. Now why the Hell is he sulking when there's all this fun to be had? Drinking, of course, makes sense, as it's a bloody _wedding_, but still! The full moon's not for another two weeks, the music is loud _and_ good (which _never_ happens), there's no need to know _how_ to dance – what's there to _sulk_ about?

Sirius huffs and blows some of his hair out of his face. This sort of behavior is just _not_ allowed, and it's his duty, as best mate and best man, to make it stop. Lightly, he claps Peter on the shoulder, interrupting the increasingly incomprehensible rant.

"Oi, Pete…I think your date's lonely."

Peter squeaks, nods, and scurries away. Thank Merlin for easily shirked friends, because, whether he thinks it or not, Remus is the hardest person in the _world_ to just brush off. He used to be less so, kind of, for about a week and a half or thereabouts. And then he started disappearing and Peter took his place; took Remus awhile to grasp that friends _care_ about each other, but he's hypothetically gotten it…except for the fact that he _really_ hasn't. He got in school, or acted like it well, but hasn't done such a good job acting since the Marauders left Hogwarts, never to darken its doorway again, as students anyway. Bloody stubborn werewolf…thinks help equals handouts, which, in turn, equal no one having faith in him, which equals, "damn it, Sirius, I don't _need_ your money!"

Well, he certainly needs _something_, and, damn it, he's going to knock off this self-righteous nonsense and fucking _take it_, whether he _likes_ it or not. Sirius grumbles and begins waling over; it goes faster than it should, and he's sitting on the barstool at Remus's side before the song reaches the chorus. The distance seemed longer, but why argue? He sighs and pulls off his tux jacket, but Remus doesn't notice, doesn't react at least…he's too busy nursing a drink. From the looks of it, it's liquor, and undoubtedly not his first. Sirius can't see his face in full, but the available sliver of eye looks blurry…and, aside from that, there are three empty glasses sitting around him. Merlin, he can't _afford_ this…and he can't hold his alcohol for shit either! For being so bloody _brilliant_ and _reasonable_, he sure is being an idiot…and he looks terrible.

James insisted on buying the dress robes for everyone, and they're about the only part of Remus that doesn't show that he's struggling. He's always been tall and skinny, but it's even worse now…and the reasons make _sense_ too. Why do they have to do that? If they weren't entirely logical and rational and whatnot, then Sirius might have less of a time dealing with Remus's stupid refusal to accept help when he needs it and his entirely thick insistence on Doing Everything For Himself. But he can only get Muggle jobs – and, at that, only bad ones, because (as Lily's wholly repulsive sister has proven tonight) Muggles are completely fucking ridiculous. Then most of the money goes to keeping his tiny flat _heated_, so he can't buy _good_ food (if any food some weeks), and the dinner here is probably the first _actual_ meal he's had in _weeks_…why can't he just take help as it is and let his friends rest easy? Isn't there _enough_ to worry about with the war? Do they really _need_ to worry about whether or not he's letting himself die as well?

And, damn it, Sirius is _going_ to set him straight on this. It's simple: "Remus, you idiot, no one's going to think any less of you if you just let us buy you dinner, or take some money if we give it to you, or move in with me because you need money and your flat's the worst." But, when he opens his mouth, Remus cuts him off.

"Better get back t' the dance floor if you're not drinkin', mate," he huffs, grimacing and throwing back the remnants of his drink. "Th' _girls'll_ get _lonely_."

"Don't care," Sirius sighs. "Moony…how can you _afford_ this?"

"I'll figure it out…wash dishes or somethin'. Think they'll take my soul? …And the hell do _you _care for?"

"Because you're my _friend_, you prat. And friends _care_-"

"Some '_friend_'…you don't think I can take _care_ of myself, _do_ you?"

"I think you _can_, but I also _see_ that you're doing a shite job of it."

"'m _alive_, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but-"

"So back off!"

Despite the fact that he's _clearly_ drunk – and living in abject poverty – he slurs to the bartender for another drink, and the damn parasite actually _gives_ it to him. Stupid fucking…it takes an immense force of will to keep Sirius from screaming at him that money isn't everything. And it's that Captain Redbeard's Rustic Rum that James snuck into Gryffindor Tower after graduation; he'd gotten it off the discount rack at the liquor store in Hogsmeade, and it tasted terrible. Still, Sirius imbibed more than his fair share and, aside from the memory of kissing Lily on the cheek and getting punched in the eye for it, he has no memory of what happened. That's how powerful it is, and Remus is on his bloody _fifth_! He didn't even like it _then_, which goes without saying that he can't hold his liquor at _all_.

"_Moony_-"

"_Don't_. _Fucking_. _Start_."

"C'mon, mate…you've had enough. Let's go find some girls and dance."

"_Yeah_. _Right_. Ya mean _you'll_ get a girl, and I'll _watch_."

"No, I-"

"I only got ta dance with Lily an' Alice, an 't was out of _pity_. Can you-"

"No, it wasn't-"

"_Sirius_! They're _married_!"

"_So_?"

"'sides…don't like 'em like that."

"Yeah, 'cos James and Frank would be madder than a pair of wet hippogriffs if you _did_."

"No, 's different…bugger, dunno what 'm sayin'."

"…Dance with _me_ then?"

"Bugger…_egotistical_ – the Hell am I sayin'? Oh bloody…fucking…can't form a bloody sentence…"

"Yes or no?"

"_Yes_…"

Although this doesn't achieve the desired effect of Remus _not_ finishing the drink, at least he drinks it quickly, and comes up coughing. Once he's done, he gives Sirius a demanding – and quite inebriated – stare; Sirius smiles and leads him to the dance floor. Funny…the walk seems to take longer this time, but they make it just in time for a slow song. Given that he's taller, more experienced, and more sober, he takes Remus's waist and leads, but Remus is the one to bring them closer together…not quite as close as Lily and James – no, their chests are pressed together…they're definitely that close, and it's closer than two mates usually would be.

And Sirius can't really say that he _minds_. It's nice, actually…dancing with Remus's hand on his shoulder, and Remus's chest to his. And Remus is strangely warm, and when he puts his head on Sirius's unoccupied shoulder, everything feels that much more peaceful, like maybe he's learned his lesson. Maybe he'll get it now that no one doubts his competence – least of all Sirius – they only _care_ about him. But he takes one, shuddering gasp of air, and, suddenly, he stiffens, and he looks up at Sirius slowly, his hazel eyes wide. Panic spasms across his face and he turns to run; Sirius doesn't catch him. He's too fast, but they meet again at the bar, where Remus is shaking and getting into his sixth of that fucking rum; this time, Sirius sighs and takes it away. Remus grabs to take it back, but his reaction time and spatial judgment are terribly impaired.

"_Pads_…" he slurs in protest, teetering dangerously on his stool. "…_C'mon_…"

"I don't think you need that," Sirius says blandly; he sets the drink down and helps Remus to sit up.

"Hypocrite."

"Do I drink? Yes. Have I tonight? Champagne, for the _toast_, which, by the way, was in my job description here."

"But, I-"

"Moony…_Remus_, you are blind, stinking drunk."

"'m _not_!"

"Trust me, mate; I've _been_ blind, stinking drunk, and you most certainly are."

"Nuh _uh_. Not drunk 'nuff to dance with _Wormtail_, so 'm not _drunk_."

"But you're drunk enough to dance with _me_?"

"Well…I…_completely_ different…"

"How so?"

"…Just is."

"Remus, you can tell me, really."

"…Put m' head on your shoulder, right?"

"Yeah, why-"

"_Damn it_!"

"Remus? What is it?"

"Fuck, arse, bugger…Merlin's plaid pants…"

"What? What's wrong?"

"The _dancing_, you _prat_!"

"What about it? Did I do something wrong?"

"Not _you_…_me_! Fucking – no one cares if _you_ dance with a bloke…you're Sirius _Black_…irresistible little bugger – why the Hell did I…might 's well told 'veryone with th' Quidditch megaphone…an' I worked on not tellin' and _everythin_'…"

"Rem – _Moony_, I don't _care_ if you fancy blokes, it's not-"

"Not _that_, you _idiot_!"

"Then wha…put that _down_."

Apparently, Remus is fast in more ways that Sirius doesn't know, and he's used his friend's care and concern to distract him, just to steal that bloody drink back. And he _drinks_ it too, arching backwards to down it. Bloody _hell_…he's obviously doing this just to spite Sirius for trying to help him. Merlin, he's supposed to be the _mature_ one. Abruptly, he slams the glass down, inhales sharply, and turns back.

"Needed that," he sighs.

"What _for_?"

The answer is not exactly what Sirius expects, though he chides himself for not guessing that it would come. Without words, Remus looks at him – bleary-eyed, reeking of rum, and somehow different than just drunkenness – takes him by the tie, and pulls him forward; they meet at the lips. It tastes like _shit_, since rum and champagne don't mix (Sirius didn't know that, and it doesn't seem like Remus cares, but…this mistake will not be made again). But, other than that, there's nothing Sirius can find to complain about. Both of them have had experience, it's clear that neither is completely without a clue, but…it's new in its repetition. Something about how Remus runs a hand down Sirius's jaw, strokes his tongue with the taste of far too potent alcohol, and keeps himself up with a hand on Sirius's thigh…_something_ about all the thought in the mindlessness makes Sirius close his eyes and curl his toes, even though the fancy shoes _should_ prevent that. In the mess of snogging, he finds himself snaking a hand through Remus's hair, and Remus deepens the kiss.

They only stop when, thoroughly drunk (and now light-headed as well), Remus breaks it off to pass out on Sirius's shoulder. Well then…he's just going to have to deal with Sirius picking up his tab then, and Sirius does. Unfortunately, Lily's side is full of Muggles, who aren't allowed to see magic, so, sighing heavily, he lifts Remus up from behind the legs; not surprisingly, the werewolf's length is more of a problem than his weight. Still, Sirius manages to find a balance and proceeds outside, where he can Apparate; in trying to sneak out, he somehow attracts James, but he's grown up, a married man now, and he understands, for which Sirius is eternally grateful. After all, it's not that two of his three best mates don't want to stay; it's that one is passed out drunk, and the other plans on taking care of him.

James gives him a quick nod, a smile, and runs back off to Lily; Sirius returns to the original course of heading outside. It appears that Remus is _also_ going to be sleeping at his flat tonight, with its comfy sofa and _heat_ and good food, whether or not he likes it. Propping Remus's lolling head up against his chest, Sirius Apparates home.

It makes him feel maternal when he does it, but he takes the time to set Remus up for a proper sleep too – and in the bedroom too; maybe _he_ can make drunken friends sleep on sofas, but to Sirius, that is Sick And Wrong. Supporting him with the headboard, Sirius removes Remus's fancy clothes, down to the socks and undershirt (he can see ribs, even if they're more _hints_ than actually present, and the stomach is concave; he'll just have to deal with an enormous breakfast _a la Sirius_ in the morning too). Delicately, he eases him down, body into bed and head into pillow, and tucks him in. Knowing Remus, the comforter, at the least, is going to end up on the floor. If he _had_ pajamas, he'd share them, but he saw no point for them after school and sold them and put the money in the Motorcycle Fund.

But…still, he'll take the couch and hope that Remus remembers this, even a disconnected part, in the morning; _he_ will and, hopefully, this is what Remus feels, and not just the booze. Sirius remembers admitting once to the other Marauders, over Butterbeer and Truth or Dare, that, if he ever had to fancy a bloke, he'd like it to be Remus, or someone exactly like him, if he couldn't have the real thing; Remus blushed, naturally, while James and Peter laughed it up…and, until now, Sirius never even considered that it might actually true. And he's not actually upset that it is…he always thought he would be. It makes him smile, and, though Remus is completely unaware of the rest of the world, he leans in close and kisses his cheek lightly.

"G'night, love," he whispers warmly into Remus' ear. And, with the unsaid now out there, he goes to the sofa to sleep for himself.


	2. Chapter 2: Morning After

**Disclaimer: **checks Nope, they're still not mine. However, I'm just playing and will put them back.

**A/N: **Written for day four of LJ's Tell Me A Kiss fanfic challenge; the prompt was "concert." Also used the prompt, "I do _not _hate you" from _The Writer's Book of Matches_.

**Part Two: Morning After**

Sirius sleeps soundly, until the combination of sunlight seeping in through the window he forgot about and the sound of someone retching wake him up. It's a quick process: instantly, his mind jumps to Remus, and his body – thinking it's in a bed – tries to spring into action; unlike his usual, graceful self, he plummets to the floor. There's an initial stinging sensation in his arms, legs, and back, but it'll have to wait. Remus is far more important than passing aches. Sirius scrambles to his feet and listens…from the sound of it, Remus made it into the bathroom, even though he's ill, bloody cleanliness-obsessed werewolf. He could've just been sick on the rug, and, considering last night, Sirius would not have minded in the least.

Besides, it's not like they went to school for nothing; they could cast a simple _Scourgify_ and be done with it. Sighing, he shambles over to the bathroom, scratching his head and yawning…the door, it seems, is closed; he tries the handle and finds that Remus has locked it. _Merlin_, he's _upset_. Bloody, stupid…but, then again, after last night, he's _bound_ to be upset, even if he doesn't remember anything, might as well respect the lad and not cast _Alohomora_, keep him from getting _too_ upset. So, instead, Sirius leans against the doorframe and knocks out a spirited rhythm on the door; an indecipherable groan comes from behind it.

"_Moony_?" he calls, hopefully sounding more concerned to Remus than he does to himself.

"_What_?" Remus croaks. Damn, he sounds angry…not a good sign.

"You _okay_?"

"_Well_, Sirius…I woke up _hung over _and _undressed_, in an _unfamiliar bed_, fighting a very _powerful_ urge to _vomit_ on the _carpet_! Given all this, I'd say it's pretty certain that I'm _not_ _o**kay**_!"

"D'you want any help?"

"_No_, Sirius, I'm _fine_! I can take _care_ of _myself_, thank you!"

Fine then, he's going to be a stubborn, irritable git…Sirius is just going to have to force him to eat a proper bloody breakfast and take some Hangover Potion then. Yawning again, he proceeds into the tiny kitchen, rummages through the refrigerator (some mad Muggle invention Remus told him about once; works better than Cooling Charms and it's damn interesting too), and sets about the task of scrambling some eggs. For flavor, he adds cheese – cheddar, Remus' favorite – and some tomatoes (another thing Remus is fond of), and gets another pan, which he begins frying bacon in. While everything tends to itself, he gets the potion out of the cupboard and mixes it in some orange juice; he would use tea, but finds the box of tea bags empty. Ah well, there'll be time later to buy more.

And Remus is _going_ to eat, drink, and talk sensibly, or Sirius will make him incredibly sorry that he hasn't. And he's going to be honest too…not for the first time in forever, but for the first time in a very long time. He's so bloody _closed-off_, it's infuriating…lucky for Remus that he's impossible to hate, or else there would undoubtedly be problems here. Not especially serious problems, but…problems nonetheless. And it's completely ridiculous too. All Sirius wants to do is _help_ him, and he…_bugger_, the bacon's going to be crispy. Conveniently in time to watch Sirius whip the pan of bacon off of the stove, Remus appears in the kitchen doorway, looking pale, sluggish, harassed, and utterly incredulous. He cocks an eyebrow, and his hair looks like he's tried and failed to calm it several times; Sirius grins at his listless frown, hoping that it will mollify him…it doesn't.

It does get him to sit at the table, though, which is a decided improvement. Sirius notes with…some sort of perhaps-maybe-kind of-happiness, that, although he's presently hung over, Remus is at least stable in his seat. However, other things distract from that as he sets the food, plates, and silverware on the table. In addition to the aftereffects of last night, Remus appears to have gone through his stuff to find a jumper, which is a good size and a half too big for him and makes him look that much worse. Even through the fabric, his vertebrae poke through the back delicately as he slumps onto the table, placing his head on his folded forearms.

"I can't stay long," he huffs. "I _already_ made you sleep on your own couch…"

"It's _not_ a _problem_," Sirius affirms strongly as he sits down with the orange juice. "I _chose_ to bring you home and sleep on the couch, and I wouldn't have if I thought you'd be a problem."

"But why-"

"I couldn't just _leave_ you at the reception, or ditch you at your place, could I, and in the state you were in?"

"I dunno…why am I _here_ in the first place?"

Sirius shrugs simply; this should be obvious, but apparently not. "You were _drunk_? Reason enough for you?"

He lifts his head and gives Sirius a half-hearted glare. "I _guessed_ that, but…I don't remember the reception past when…when James and Kingsley gave Peter ten Galleons to ask Mad-Eye to dance, and then he did."

"Yeah, that was _hysterical_-"

"Sirius! _What happened_? Why am I _here_?"

"Well…" he explains moderately, "when _I _found you, you were getting into your fifth of Captain Redbeard's, and you were…absolutely trashed, _beyond_ drunk."

"This isn't going to end well, is it?"

"Let me finish. We talked, you snapped at me, we danced-"

"_What_!"

"I offered, you accepted; don't shoot the bloody messenger, and let him finish his story already. Anyway – you ran away in the middle, we talked again, you called me a bad friend in there somewhere, I took away your sixth but you took it back and drank it _anyway_, and then you-"

"Oh _Merlin_, I _didn't_…did I?" He winces, and then pinches his temples; the bridge of his nose comes next.

"Depends on what you're thinking, because you did a _lot_, mate…and drink this, you'll feel better."

He expertly slides the glass around all the other sundries on the table and, for once since leaving school, Remus doesn't think deeply and accepts something offered to him without any complaint. This is a big step for him, even if it's something as small as orange juice laced with Hangover Potion. And he actually drinks some of it too – conservative sips at first, and then emphatic swigs. Most excellent.

"So…" he sighs, coming up for breath. "What _did_ I do?"

"Not too much," Sirius says mildly. "Said a few things, most of it angry and directed at me-"

"Oh, _Sirius_…I'm _sorry_-"

"Don't be; you were drunk, and we're going to talk about it in a minute."

"…Okay, right…talk. Talking's good…so…what'd I say?"

"Well, you called me a bad friend-"

"You said that already."

"Oh, right. Uh…you mentioned that you'd need to be even more drunk to dance with Wormtail, implied that Lily and Alice only danced with you out of pity, said you fancy blokes, and then you snogged me and passed out on my shoulder."

Apparently, even with a blander than History of Magic explanation, this whole mess is quite a lot to process – and rightly so – and Remus heaves himself up and sinks back into his seat, clutching onto the glass for dear life. The food still hasn't been touched, but that's what Warming Charms are for. Granted, he _did_ say that he'd been trying to keep everything a secret, so maybe it's more that someone knows making him upset than having to come to terms with reality. Okay, _maybe_ he has to reconcile with the fact that he was drunker last night than he'd ever been before, but, hopefully, there won't be a need for Sirius to talk him through his sexuality too…no, wait. If that happens, there might be hugging, hair stroking, and kissing, and Remus is a good kisser drunk, so he must be smashing while sober. And his hair is quite soft…yeah, Sirius can live if Remus needs that, but he can't tell; Remus is being difficult and unreadable, and his eyes are pointed at his knees, so Sirius can't even see _hints_ of what he's thinking.

"…I should go," he sighs brokenly.

"Why?" Sirius demands, not caring that he sounds petulant. "I made breakfast!"

"…I…you probably, well…I wouldn't be _surprised_ if you hate me now…"

"I don't hate you."

"Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe?"

"Why in the name of Merlin's multifaceted mango would I suddenly go from being your best mate to hating you?"

"…Because I got drunk and made you kiss me? And you like birds?"

"Remus _John_ Lupin, I do _not _hate you, especially not over _that_; that's a pretty pathetic reason to hate someone, don't you think? Besides, it was nice."

"…It was?"

"Yes, amazingly nice, in fact. Better than any kiss I've gotten from a _skirt_, let me tell you. Now the only thing I want to know is: was that _you_, or was it the rum?"

"It was me," he huffs acquiescingly. "Mostly me, anyway…I can't really _remember_ it, but…it was me, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well, if I hadn't been _drunk_, I never would've kissed you. I mean…I've _wanted_ to for…not quite forever, but a very long time-"

"So why didn't you?"

"I was afraid I'd scare you, or you wouldn't like me anymore, or _something_…my parents had enough trouble with me being a werewolf, they found out about _this_, and…well, needless to say, it wasn't pretty…"

"…But I'm not your parents, and I still like you, and-"

"I didn't know that before, but I guess alcohol makes me not care."

"Yeah, it has that effect on people in general. But it _was_ you last night, right?" Remus nods solemnly. "Excellent."

"…Wait, why is it excellent?"

"Because now I can ask you something without feeling like I'm taking advantage of you."

"What?"

"Remus John Lupin, also known as Moony: will you move in with me?"

Finally, Remus looks up at him; his skin is close to white, his eyes are no longer blurry, but there's a thin film of tears building up to compensate for this. When Sirius opens his mouth to speak, words fail him, so he makes Remus a plate of food instead, puts a fork on it, and shoves it across the table. Although he's shaking, he nods and begins to eat. This is the first time he's had Sirius's cooking, but it looks like he's enjoying it, but then…he's also bound to be starving, and that's really the only thing that's wrong with this picture. Well…Sirius needs a shower, he's well aware of that, and Remus needs to move in with him and be fed on a more regular basis. Oh, and they need _tea_, since Sirius enjoys it and Remus has been known to go mental for the last tea bag, but…right now, with the two of them having breakfast together, it's absolutely wonderful, and Sirius can't ask for more. Then Remus looks up at him with a smile, and he revises that notion.

"Don't you think we'd be skipping a few steps, though?" he asks quietly, but pleasantly.

Sirius is completely confused: he wants it, Remus looks like he wants it, and no one's complaining…so, what's there to keep it from happening? Everything is completely in concert with their needs and wants, it's better for Remus, the only person Sirius can think of who'd _say_ anything is one they haven't seen since graduation (thank Merlin for that too…bloody Snivel…Snape…he's officially been "Snape" for a while, but, _damn_ it's hard to get used to calling him that)…and no one likes him anyway. But Sirius likes Remus, more than he knew before, apparently, and the only thing he can think of is that he wants to protect the man sitting across from him…his verbalization of this, though, doesn't quite come out right:

"Like what?"

"Well, a first date, a first exchange of no-reason-at-all presents, first kiss-"

"I'll give you the other two, but we had a first kiss last night."

"But I don't remember it…and I have other conditions as well."

"Okay. What are they?"

"One – you will move my stuff; there's not much, but you're better at Apparating with more than clothes and a book-bag. Two – you will get a new mattress, since, if I'm moving in, I don't intend to sleep on the couch, and I don't think you want to either-"

"You'd be correct in that assumption, Mister Moony."

"And I'm only doing this under the assumption that we're going to call ourselves a couple-"

"I could mark my territory, but that would be tacky, so, yes."

"So we're sharing a bed. And your mattress doesn't have hardly enough space."

"Okay, we fix the mattress problem. Anything else?"

"Three – you get off your arse, get over here, and kiss me. Right now."

"Demanding little bugger, aren't you?"

"I can go home right now, you know. I don't _have_ to move in with you."

"But…you can't do _everything_ by yourself…"

"I can go back to _trying_, though…unless you're just playing with me…"

"Why would I-"

"Then get off your arse, get over here, and kiss me."

Sirius is tempted by the prospect of making some comment about hard bargains, but thinks better of it and decides to just listen, for once. He's by Remus's side in an instant, one knee on the chair and one hand on Remus's knee to keep his balance. This time, he initiates, but comes again…though, he must admit, it's definitely nicer to kiss Remus without being pulled into it by an uncomfortable tie. And this time, they don't taste like conflicting alcohols. Even the vomit aftertaste's gone, so either Remus cast _Scourgify_ on his mouth, or Sirius's cooking is just that good. Once tongue enters the equation, it's too hard to keep balance this way, and Sirius slides his other knee onto the chair as well. He's careful not to put too much of his weight on Remus, sliding one hand onto Remus's shoulder and the other behind his head; Remus pushes himself up, closing the distance between their chests.

Later that day, on the new mattress, with the eight boxes Sirius Apparated over from Remus's dingy little flat (most of it was books) stacked up by the bedroom door and another square meal prepared with love, Sirius finds himself underneath a warm, incredibly cuddly werewolf. Strangely enough for turning into a canine every month, Remus purrs when Sirius strokes his brown hair – it's livelier now that he's moved in, even if he hasn't completely gotten rid of the other flat yet; his eyes seem to sparkle more, which can't be bad. Humming some indecipherable tune, he wriggles closer to Sirius's face, which allows Sirius to grab onto his arse, rather than his waist; he giggles and nuzzles Sirius's neck, sneaking in a slight kiss.

"I have one more condition, by the way," he whispers affectionately, sounding like he's containing a laugh.

"Oh _no_, dear _me_," Sirius chuckles, kissing his forehead. "Whatever could it be?"

"You're going to make me dinner every night…you cook better than I do."

"In all fairness, love, I was planning on it."

"Mmm…perfect."

"Just like you?"


End file.
